


The Little Battle-rina

by MusicZombie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance School, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Comedy, Dwarves, Elves, Gen, Humor, Mirkwood, dance battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicZombie/pseuds/MusicZombie
Summary: In the peaceful forest of Mirkwood, all the wood Elves gather for the first dance lessons of the season. However, things take a surprising turn when an unexpected student arrives...





	The Little Battle-rina

It was a beautiful day in Middle Earth, as the birds sang and the sunlight gleamed through the trees of Mirkwood. It reflected off of the water of Esgaroth, glittering as though the riverbed consisted of diamonds. The bells of the Elven dance hall rang out across the river, their melody signaling to all that the days lesson would soon begin. All the Wood Elves quickly and happily ran to the hall, hoping to not be late for the first lesson of the season. The hall was not large, nor was it small by any comparison. It was, in fact, just the right size for such lessons. Brown stone of the earth made the walls of the building, it's architecture chiseled to perfection by the Elven craftsmen. At the outer door stood two statues, depicting notable musicians of ages past, to inspire those who entered. There were windows high above near the ceiling, large enough to allow sufficient lighting to see within the hall, spreading to the finely furnished oak that made the floor. The walls were adorned not with the usual statues as one would expect from an Elven structure, but instead with reflective mirrors and steady oaken branches set as beams to stretch on.

As the last few students made their way in, the large doors to the hall were closed, the heavy "chnk" of the doors latch echoing through the air, lingering for what seemed like forever. The students waited patiently in a large group at the entrance, making quiet small talk with one another until the instructor arrived. And so she did, and as she walked, the room grew silent. The instructor was a very fair Elven maiden, looking no older than what would be twenty years of age for a human, but her eyes carried the soft wisdom of one who's life has spanned many a decade. Her strides were long and graceful, resembling the movements of a specter through the lingering dust in the light, gliding as though her feet never touched the ground. She came to the front of the group and stopped. She smiled warmly, slowly looking across the room at all the bright faces, making sure that she met the eyes of all in the room. As she looked at the last of those in the hall, she took in a gentle breath, and began to speak. “Suilannad, my students. I am Lhinneth. Thank you all for coming. Before we begin, I would first like to call on each of you to see how many have made it here from the signing roster.” As this was said, her assistant brought her a slightly worn scroll, the edges slightly tattered from the many hands which signed it. She nodded in gratitude, and proceeded to open the paper. “When I speak your name, please respond so that I may know that you are present.”

With that, she began to read down the list, taking a brief pause between each so that the students had time to respond in turn. She neared the bottom of the list, speaking each name just as clearly as the last; “Thirist?” “Here!” “Salaben?” “Here, m'lady!” She couldn't help but smile at the number of students that had arrived, and their eagerness to be there. “Thorin Oakenshield?” Her face, once beaming with the same radiance as the light shining through the windows of the hall, suddenly became distant with the look of shock at the words that left her lips only moments prior. Her gaze lifted from the parchment to the crowd, and as she did so, the sea of bodies began to part down the middle. The students shifted to the side as a stout, muscular Dwarf with handsome features stepped forth from the crowd, his squared boots thudding against the floor and leather jacket squeaking with the movement of his body. He held on his face an angry scowl, looking at all around the room through the top of his brow as murmurs and whispers echoed from student to student behind him.

The instructor forced a nervous smile as she spoke once more. “My, I never would have expected... You are Thorin Oakenshield?” From stern lips hidden behind a long, black beard, he spoke, looking around the room once more from black eyes, “Yes... I am Thorin Oakenshield... Son of Thrain... GRANDSON of Thror, King Under The Mountain!” His voice boomed across the hall. When all fell silent once more, his eyes locked with that of Lhinneth, and he continued; “And I am here to dance.” Silence hung in the room, thick to the point of suffocation, the two unable to break eye contact with one another. Finally, Lhinneth blinked and looked at her parchment, as though she wished to hide from the fiery gaze of the young Dwarf. Nervously, she said, “Well, I am very pleased to hear that.” Her sight now looked to the Dwarf's attire. “Would you not like a different attire to we-” With that he interjected. “There will be no need for that!” With swiftness as though he were wearing air, he removed the leather coat adorning his shoulders, revealing a slimming leotard.

“Oh!” The instructor exclaimed, “Then I believe that you are properly attired.” Whispers began to circle the hall once more, commenting on the Dwarf's attire. The instructor looked at the scroll once more, then back up at the class. She briskly clapped three times, dispersing the whispers. “Alright everyone, that concludes the list! Please find a place on the floor or at the wall to stretch your bodies and prepare for today's lesson.” As the class spilled across the floor like wine spilled from a glass, Thorin bent down to remove his boots, stripping his feet down to the bare skin. He placed his things aside and walked across the floor, finding his way to an empty space between two female elves at one of the many mirrors that lined the walls. As he neared the wooden beam, the two Elves stopped their conversation to look back at him, and with obvious intention decided to move to another end of the hall. Thorin payed little attention, giving them each a brief glance. He simply walked to the bar, sized it up, and lifted a trunk-like leg onto the beam and began to stretch.

A few minutes passed, and after a time Thorin looked up from the stretching bar to glance the room at the other students. As he did this, he noticed the gaze of an Elf. The young male Elf stood at the middle of the hall, starring at the Dwarf as he balloned, each leap graceful and precise. Thorin kept his eyes locked with the Elf's, and neither broke the stare. The Elf had eyes like a hawk, never looking away from the Dwarf for more than an instant, even as he began to pirouette, his golden hair flowing around him as he spun. Thorin brought his leg down from the bar and began to plie, then quickly turning to ballon, as though he were challenging the Elf. Though he made more noise upon landing, his leaps were just as graceful as that of the Elf. The Elf, a slight grin crossing his face, began to ballon once more, seeming to accept his challenge. Thorin began to continue his stretches and practice in the small space that he had claimed, and the Elf mirrored every move, and like a mirror, reflected the Dwarf's flaws back at him with each graceful step. The two went on like this for some time, and with each parallel step the Dwarf's blood boiled hotter, feeling as the the Elf were taunting him.

Finally the Dwarf snapped, and his footsteps thundered across the hall as he stormed up to the Elf, pushing him in the chest with a broad hand. The Elf took one step back, quickly regaining his balance. “What is your name!?”, the Dwarf barked. “Ya?”, the Elf replied, feigning ignorance to the speech that the Dwarf used. “You heard me Elf, WHAT IS YOUR NAME!?” “Lle lakwenien?” the Elf replied, a grin spreading across his face. “I KNOW YOU UNDERSTAND ME, ELF!!!” Thorin began to roar, as he clenched the front of the Elf's clothing. As if out of thin air, Lhinneth appeared between the two and separated them. “Stop it, both of you! This is no place for fighting! Now,” she said as she looked toward the young Elf, “Show honor to our guest and present him your name.” He looked to her, then to Thorin and said, “My apologies. I am Legolas.” The instructor looked at the two of them for a moment, then said, somewhat sternly, “There will be no violence here. If you wish to settle your differences, it will be with dance. Understood?” The two nodded, once again not sparing a glance to anywhere but the others eyes.

The instructor once again clapped three times above her head and spoke to the rest of the hall. “Please clear the floor, everyone to the walls.” The students all moved quickly to the edges of the room as Thorin and Legolas took their places on the floor. The two stared each other down from across the room. “Are you so vain to think you can best me?” Thorin said in a rumbling bass, attempting to intimidate his competitor. “Only so long as you don't trip over those short legs,” the Elf retorted through a grin. With a nod, the instructor initiated the competition. Legolas started, giving a show of grace with twirls and dips, never having fewer than one foot touching the ground. With legs stretched, Thorin bound with beautiful leaps, dancing around a now pirouetting Elf, then spinning and kicking with grace and precision with every move. The two continued to dance, bounds and ballons, pirouettes and plies, until soon the two closed any space between them. Dancing and twirling, their bodies spun around each other in the center of the room, creating a typhoon of perfect synchronicity. The onlookers could hardly keep track of their movements, as they almost seemed to move as one. Until suddenly, Thorin tripped, and his body flung to the floor. A gasp echoed from all who observed, hushed by silence as they anticipated the thundering fall of the mighty Oakenshield. The hall was robbed of the sound, as the Dwarf's fall was abruptly, yet gracefully stopped by an elegant Elven hand. Thorin looked up into the Elf's hawk-like eyes, and could hardly hear Leagolas ask if he was alright, the words muffled in the distance as he became lost in them. 

He quickly snapped back to reality as he shouted, “Get your hands off me!” He jerked and twisted his body until he found himself back on his feet, and pushed Legolas away. He stormed across the hall, through the crowd that found itself in his way, and with his things he left the hall with a thunderous slam of the large oak doors. The room stayed silent, as the echo dissipated in the hall like the voices of the Dwarves under the mountain.


End file.
